


we don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents

by Astronomical_Aphrodite



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Drug Addiction, Fluff, Gen, Getting Sober, Klaus Hargreeves Is Getting Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parent Klaus Hargreeves, Parenthood, Protective Klaus Hargreeves, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronomical_Aphrodite/pseuds/Astronomical_Aphrodite
Summary: “Gotta give him a friend. Like I always say, ‘Everyone needs a friend.’”— Bob Ross
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Original Child Character(s), The Hargreeves Family
Comments: 12
Kudos: 356





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Might continue this whenever I feel like it, and I’ll add onto it eventually, although I’m publishing it under complete for now. Tell me if you guys like it, and if there’s anything else you might want to see for this AU!

**_8:39 am  
January 7th, 2009_ **

“It’s yours,” the woman on his doorstep declared, shoving the pastel pink bundle into Klaus’ arms. Her thick red hair was tangled, and she had bags under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days and freckles scattered across her face like constellations. He looked down, and found an infant was sleeping in his arms, face scrunched up and cheeks flushed. It had short, dark curls that were stuffed under a hat that matched its blanket, and he could tell by the curve of its lips that it was definitely his child. The wristband on it told him that they were both fresh out of the hospital. “Keep it yourself, put it up for adoption, I don’t care,” she continued, adjusting his arms so that he was holding the infant correctly, “just don’t try to contact me after I’ve left. And support the head properly.”

“I don’t think I could contact you,” Klaus grunted, digging the heel of his palm into his forehead. He was nursing a dreadful hangover, and had already puked twice that morning. He’d taken heroin the day before, so the ghosts thankfully hadn’t made their reappearance, and would until the drug had fully left his system. “I don’t even remember your name,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with the hand that wasn’t holding his child. It was too early in the morning for him to be processing things properly, although Klaus knew himself well enough to know that he’d be freaking out later.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Here,” she spat, thrusting a piece of paper towards him that he accepted with some trepidation. A birth certificate, as he quickly discovered. It had the available lines for mother and father’s names filled out ( _Diana Ferguson was her name, he discovered_ ), as well as the time and date of birth ( _11:38 am, January 6th, 2009_ ) and birth weight ( _5 pounds, 3 ounces_ ). He had a newborn daughter, born around the same time that he’d stuck a needle into his own vein to drive the ghosts away, and she looked so much like himself that it made him sick. There wasn’t a name written, and with the way she’d been calling their child an ‘it,’ the reason why was easy to guess.

“Thanks,” he said dumbly, holding both the certificate in one hand and his child in the crook of his other arm. He was shirtless, and her face was smushed against his bare pectoral, expression showing pure, blissful ignorance of the situation at hand — her birth mother relinquishing all responsibility for her as she was being given to her nineteen year old, nonbinary, pansexual, drug addicted genetic parent, who could also see ghosts, was a former superhero, and wore makeup like a second layer of skin. He could barely comprehend the situation himself.

“Make sure you fill out a name and file that soon,” she said, gesturing towards the document, “or the state department is gonna’ get pissy at you.” She moved like she was going to leave, taking several steps backwards and half turning before pausing in the hallway of his apartment complex. Face twisting into a conflicted scowl, she crossed her legs at the ankles, looking down at the ground. “I know that you’re a good person,” she said, “so for your sake, I hope she helps you with your, ah, problems.”

For all that he couldn’t remember her for, she sure knew a lot about him, enough that she stuck around to give him one last motivational comment before hightailing it from the premises, hunched around herself as she moved to the elevator. He stood in the doorway, slightly numb, before backing up into his apartment and shutting the door.

He stepped over the sheet of paper that had been slid underneath his door that morning. Klaus knew it was from his landlord, telling him that he’d be kicked out soon if he didn’t pay his rent, and made a mental note to scrounge up the money he had to pay it that month. Originally, his plan had been to let his lease expire and simply start sleeping around for places to crash, but that wouldn’t do with a baby in his household, and he fully intended to keep his daughter instead of surrendering her. The royalties he received from the Umbrella Academy trademark were just enough to pay for either rent or drugs, with a little left over for food and the occasional new clothing item or makeup compact, so if he quit, he’d be able to afford having a place to sleep anyways.

Klaus knew he’d need to work past his issues, or he knew that he wouldn’t ever be able to pretend he was fit to be her parent. He wasn’t even twenty yet — it would be difficult to be fit even if he was completely sober. Still with her cradled delicately in his arms, he set the birth certificate down on his counter. After a moment’s consideration, he started to rifle through his pantry, alcohol basically the only consumable thing on the shelves within. He dumped the opened bottles of illicitly purchased liquor and spirits in his pantry down the sink, resolving to give the unopened bottles as gifts to the people down at the food pantry. Moving to his bedroom, he searched through his meager belongings for his stash before bringing what he found into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was easy to clear out, simply taking every bottle off the bottom shelf, and he realized that if the police had decided to conduct a raid on his apartment, shit would’ve gone down.

It took a while to dump everything down the toilet while working with a singular arm, stuffing the empty pill bottles and baggies into the trash can after peeling off the labels, but when he was finished, he was slightly concerned about whether it would actually flush. He’d never unclogged a toilet before, and there was nobody he trusted enough to do the job for him. His daughter had woken up during the process of purging the house of drugs and alcohol, blinking up at him with watery, dark eyes. “Say goodbye to daddy’s stash,” he said with a sigh, looking into the bowl forlornly. Pushing down on the flusher, there was a moment where he almost panicked, his stash almost seeming to get stuck, and he nearly considered scooping it out with his bare hands to lessen the burden, although they eventually did disappear, being sucked through the ancient pipes of his apartment complex. Water filled up to its normal level, softly gurgling, and the weight of his actions fully settled on him.

He’d flushed hundreds of dollars worth of drugs down the toilet with hardly a second thought, and he even joked about it. Sure, he did it with reluctance, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t go through with it. He’d even taken toilet drugs before, alongside pills from rave floors and shit he found in trash bins, but he didn’t think twice before getting rid of them for real.

Withdrawal was going to be a bitch, he thought as he looked down at the baby blinking slowly at him, her face scrunched up like she was puzzled by his presence, and it made his stomach twist into knots that weren’t related to his hangover or impending withdrawal. He had a baby, a real, actual baby that was genetically his, and he’d try so much harder than Reginald did to be a good parent. Quitting was a major decision, but it would be worth it so that she would never know a Klaus that wasn’t sober.

Nuzzling into his chest, she mouthed at him gently, and he stuck a finger between her lips, watching while she sucked on it gently like a pacifier. Walking with a sway in his step, shifting pressure between his feet while he took her to his small bedroom, he grabbed the several hundred dollars he’d been intending to spend on new clothes and drugs, settling her down gingerly on her back on the firm futon that was his makeshift bed. Shoving on a pair of loose khakis and the first shirt he grabbed, a simple red shortsleeved shirt, he tried to ignore the grating fact that he looked like a Target employee while he scooped his baby back up, exiting his apartment after shoving his feet into a pair of flip-flops.

When he made it down to the first floor lobby and knocked on his landlord’s suite, he heard something clattering on the other side of the door before an elderly widow, Mrs Duluth, was opening her front door, squinting as she scrutinized him. Fishing in his pocket, he withdrew the cash, carefully counted, and held it out for her. “I thought you weren’t planning on paying this month,” she said, a question hidden in the dig. With how she was staring at the baby, he figured that she probably already had her answer.

“I’ve had an, um, a strange morning,” he said by way of explanation, and she nodded slowly, finally looking back up again. The frown lines around her eyes had flattened, expression now one of curiosity rather than consternation. She’d been patient with him for nearly two years as he’d rack up months worth of debt, then pay it off when he got lucky and found something valuable to pawn away, but her patience had been nearing its end.

“Alright then, Klaus,” she said, running her fingers over the wrinkled bills he’d handed her while she counted them. Looking back up, she gave him a firm nod, before turning around to head back inside, but she paused in the doorway, hand clenching the doorknob. “I still have an old crib from when my daughter was an infant,” she said tentatively, and he smiled sheepishly, rocking his newborn. She was starting to get fussy, and he knew she was likely hungry. At least she hadn’t soiled herself, judging by her clean smell. “You can have it if you stop by later today or tomorrow to take it up,” she continued, “and if you have any questions, feel free to come and ask me.”

“Thank you, Mrs Duluth,” he said sincerely, and she gave him another curt nod before disappearing through the doorway, shutting her door behind her. He remained standing outside the door for a moment, before he was leaving, heading towards the exit building’s exit.

Snow had piled up to his knees overnight, he realized with a wince, and as he bundled up his daughter on his walk to the bus stop, he wished he had something more than a blanket for her. She had a diaper on, and a thin, plain shirt that exposed her belly, still with her umbilical stump attached, but they weren’t protection against the cold. Lucky for him, the bus to the shopping court would arrive at nine-thirty, and as he bounced his increasingly fussy daughter, keeping her held close as the remaining cash practically burned a hole in his pocket, it pulled up. He’d arrived just on time, knowing that otherwise he’d have to deal with an upset newborn in the snow.

Settling down in the bus seat, he shushed her gently, desperately trying to ignore the embittered stares from women while keeping her from having a full breakdown in public. He knew enough about infants from his diverse, eclectic childhood educational program to know that she was rooting because she was hungry, and he felt bad that he didn’t have anything she could stomach. The sweats were coming on fast, his skin feeling like insects were moving around underneath it, and it was a bad time for him to be entering withdrawal.

It was on public transportation that he finally started to truly process everything, tears welling in his vision while he frantically tried to calm his now-sobbing newborn. Shushing her, he held her against his shoulder, glad that the bus was at least warm. People were moving away from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, wishing he at least had Advil for the aching pounding in his head. Smushing his face against the crown of her head, covered by her cap, they cried in solidarity with each other, both exhausted and distressed by the sudden twist in their lives.

She was still crying by the time he stumbled off the bus and back into the snow, but the walk to the closest department store calmed her down, and as he walked through the automatic doors of the entryway, she finally fell asleep again, face still blotchy with tears. He hadn’t been wearing makeup, thank whatever higher power may or nay not exist, so as he wiped at his eyes it didn’t smudge against his hand. He grabbed a cart, knowing that he would need something to hold his bounty in, and kept her cradled in one arm while he walked into the main shopping area.

The Christmas season had just ended, and there was still tinsel hanging off empty shelves and counters, ornaments dangling from them. A grand tree was erected in the entryway, a cluster of fake cardboard presents gathered underneath, although the upper half of the pine tree was naked and there was a ladder positioned in its needled branches. Red and green signs advertising a variety of products had snowflakes and holiday icons printed on them.

Snatching a cart and heading directly towards the infant care section of the store, his first destination was the area with powder formula. Keeping her grasped firmly in his arms, nuzzling his head into her hair and trying not to start crying again, he grabbed a large tin of powdered formula that looked appealing. Klaus had no clue how much babies were supposed to eat, and after checking the instructions, he still didn’t know. How many scoops were even in a package? After setting it down in his cart, he grabbed another to be safe, although would need to preserve their money in order to make it to the end of the month without either starving the baby to death, or starving himself to death. Sticking it inside of the cart and ploughing onwards, at the end of the aisle, he found bottles and grabbed one from the wall at random, hoping that the nipple size listed on the packaging would be satisfactory.

It was diapers and baby powder next, and although he didn’t want to deal with washing shit-filled reusable cloth nappies, after looking at the prices on the disposable package and running some quick mental calculations, he decided that convenience wasn’t worth the massive expense. He cared about the environment, too, but the decision was driven mostly by his concern for his funds. His baby was growing fussy again, squirming against him like she knew he had food but wasn’t able to get it for her, and he shushed her with his lips pressed against her forehead, trying to rock and bounce her gently. “Just another hour, please, baby,” he pleaded weakly, “and we’ll get you something to eat, I promise.”

She was in full hysterics by the time he reached the area for miscellaneous supplies, and he selected a floral print baby carrier from the wall, thinking it looked both stylish and functional. Carrying around a baby with one arm was difficult, and he’d need to be hands-free in order to take her places. He grabbed a bath seat, figuring that he’d need it at one point or another, although he’d heard that babies shouldn’t be bathed immediately, so he’d have to search online or ask Mrs Duluth about when he could. Comparing two bottles of infant soap, he settled on the second because it said that it was organic, although he figured it wasn’t the best metric. A pacifier was next, because maybe it could stop the screaming on the bus ride home, and on impulse he added a stuffed elephant to the bag.

In the clothing section, he went straight for the onesies and shirts marked ‘0-3,’ figuring that she seemed long for a baby, of a little skinny, and that she would likely grow into whatever she didn’t fit. Tossing in a four pack of kimono onesies, Klaus dropped one with a bumblebee on the front into the basket, adding several pairs of pants and two sets of booties with a package of socks. He grabbed a small coat, knowing that she would need it while it was still a freezing New York winter, and a cap and a pink headband, calling it a day and hoping she wouldn’t need anything else.

Klaus practically ran for the check-out counters, loading his haul onto the belt and holding his baby closer while he dragged the cart behind him. She finally stopped sobbing, the noise replaced by tiny hiccoughs that shook her against his skin, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that the cashier wouldn’t be able to judge him for his parenting skills. He was already feeling shitty, and any comment had the power to make him cry again. Part of him wished he had remembered to buy some mild painkiller, but he already had a half-full bottle at home that he’d raid as soon as he was done feeding his baby.

When he arrived at the end of the line, an elderly woman strolling away with her basket of vegetables, the woman behind the counter that looked about his age beamed at him, starting to scan his items and slip them into paper bags. While he’d normally spend time flirting, he didn’t have the time or willpower for being amorous. He barely even wanted to make small talk. “What’s her name?” She asked cheerfully, eyes repeatedly darting between the computer in front of her, the things she was scanning, and the baby in his arms, and he blanched.

“I have no clue,” Klaus confessed weakly, and the expression of polite confusion on her face would’ve been hilarious in any other circumstance. He wished that he’d known sooner about her existence, because clearly her mother had remembered where he lived, but that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that he was coping, and he was purchasing baby supplies, and everything would be alright in the end.

“Oh,” she said, and her face reddened like she was embarrassed. He simply handed her a hundred dollar bill for payment, and after checking to ensure it was legitimate currency and not counterfeit, she gave him his change back, patting his bags where they were sat on the counter. “Thanks for shopping with us today,” she said cheerily, and he nodded in acknowledgement, almost wishing he could wake up in bed and have it all be some strange dream.

He felt guilty about the thought immediately afterwards, dragging his cart towards where they were stored and hooking his elbow around the handles of his two bags, despite how they dug into his flesh. It was his choice to keep her — he could have just dropped her off at the hospital or fire department in their safe drop box for infants — and he already felt himself growing attached to his progeny. They arrived at the bus stop, and he broke the pacifier out of its container so that he could slip it between her lips. She didn’t fully settle, but she suckled at the item and fell quiet, able to ignore her empty stomach.

It was a relief when he finally made it home, stumbling off the bus and into the apartment complex. He headed directly towards Mrs Duluth’s apartment, knowing that he’d need the crib and her assistance to feed the baby. Knocking on her door, she opened it quickly, and he noticed that the crib box was already resting by the door. “Mr Hargreeves,” she sniffed, “I’ll take her if you carry that to the elevator.”

He didn’t need to ask himself, and he felt relief at avoiding the need to navigate a request. “Alright,” Klaus agreed, passing her the baby and a couple of the lighter grocery bags. Slipping his fingers underneath the box, he lifted it, and although it was lighter than he expected it to be, it was still difficult to carry. He was a scrawny person, and actively beginning opioid withdrawal, and he could barely lift it off the hardwood floor.

Shuffling to the elevator, they fitted themselves inside, and he tried not to keel over with how severe his abdominal cramps were growing. Slick fingers trying to grip the box, he was grateful when it came to his floor and he was able to get out, heading towards his apartment. Mrs Duluth used her key to unlock the front door, and they walked inside together.

“You set that up,” she instructed, “while I’ll get started on preparing the bottle.”

“Got it, boss,” Klaus joked, although he was grateful for the direction.

With how badly his hands were trembling, it was difficult to set up the bassinet, fumbling with screws and patches and struggling to line up the posts with the frame of the crib. His hands were slippery, sweat coating him like a second layer of skin, and his stomach twisted within his gut, bile occasionally rising in the back of his throat. It wouldn’t be long before the ghosts would return, he thought with rising dread — if he hadn’t cleared out the house of his paraphernalia, there was no chance he wouldn’t be taking some pills and calling it an evening. He regretted the decision to throw it all down the drain, but also knew that he would have regretted taking anything.

Finishing with the setup, Klaus pushed it towards the wall of his bedroom, setting it up so that it was flush against the wall. It wasn’t underneath a window, which he figured was a bad idea while it was still cold out, and he knew that he’d have to eventually save up enough to move into a bigger apartment when she was older. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, which did nothing to dry his skin, then put the stuffed elephant on the plush armchair, formerly the only other piece of furniture in the room. With a shaky sigh, he went back into the livingroom to face his landlord.

Mrs Duluth had his daughter cradled in her arm, and when he saw the bottle she was holding to her lips, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief, knowing that she was getting properly fed. The elderly woman nodded towards the empty spot on the couch next to her, and he hurried over, settling down on the cushion and clenching his hands in his capris. “It’s been nearly twenty years since I’ve held a baby,” she confessed, “not since my youngest grandson was little.”

Klaus knew Mrs Duluth had a single daughter, and that her husband had died when she was a toddler, but she never remarried. She also had several grandchildren, although he’d never known the exact number. “That’s the happiest she’s been since I was handed her this morning,” he said with audible relief, leaning back into the couch.

“You should learn how to feed her,” she said, moving to hand him his child, and he lifted his arms to accept her. Mrs Duluth positioned her in his arms so that his elbow was supporting her neck, but not keeping her from moving it freely, and his hand and arm were supporting her body. The bottle slipped out of her mouth, and she struggled to get it back. “Position it so her nose is pointed upwards and not touching the bottle, like this,” she continued, handing the plastic to him and shifting his arm, and when she latched on easily and continued suckling contentedly at the formula, he felt like he could cry again.

Klaus always got weepy when he was sober, especially when going through withdrawal. Sweaty and teary, he hoped she knew how much he appreciated her guidance. “Thank you,” he babbled gratefully, “thank you.”

The lines around her face softened, mouth almost tilting upwards in a smile, and he imagined her from when she was a young, single mother, dealing with a small child and funeral arrangements. Standing, she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle, comforting squeeze. “Call me up if you need anything else,” Mrs Duluth said, shuffling towards the door. He was tempted to ask her to stay with him, but he kept quiet, not voicing the request. “Get plenty of sleep, dear, before you’re up all night with her.”

“Thank you,” he repeated numbly, and she left, leaving him alone with a newborn in his apartment.

She’d fallen asleep after finally having her meal, and he took the opportunity to bring her into his bedroom and lay her down in her crib. Taking the bottle into the kitchen, he rinsed it out, setting it inside the dishwasher and taking the opportunity to put in all the silverware he still possessed inside of it. He’d planned on selling it all to a fence when he inevitably was evicted, letting the dirty dishes fester in his sink, but he would need it eventually if he was going to properly raise a child.

When the dishes had been loaded into the dishwasher, he used the freshly emptied sink to vomit so violently that he feared he might regurgitate his intestines. A shivering mess, Klaus braced himself against the countertop while he continued to empty what whitish bile remained in his stomach. When it concluded, his eyes were watering, and he slid to the floor and hunched over himself, suppressing the waves of nausea that washed over him and trying not to puke again. His stomach ached like someone was driving a knife through him, and if his symptoms worsened, Klaus figured he might have to drag himself to the doctor’s office and get a methadone prescription. It was a last resort for him — they usually tried to convince him to go to inpatient rehab, get a therapist, or go on anti-psychotic medication, and they were expensive due to his lack of insurance — but he couldn’t possibly raise an infant when he could barely take care of himself.

“Ben, if you’re here,” Klaus mumbled woozily, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears, “I hope you know how much I wish you were visible.”

He was answered by absolute silence, but he hadn’t expected to be able to see his ghostly brother. He’d been clean for less than a full day, although it would’ve been so much easier if he had been clean for longer. Grabbing the counter and pulling himself to his feet, he shuffled to the bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet and pulling out the bottle of Advil. Swallowing a couple pills dry, he headed into the bedroom, laying down in his bed.

As much as he wanted to squeeze a nap in before his daughter woke up, she was waking up again soon after he laid down with strangled, distressed cries, her hands clenched into fists while her back arched up off the crib mattress. It was easy to tell that she needed her nappy changed, and he felt lucky that he’d changed one before for a friend when he removed her soiled disposable one and stuffed it into his overflowing trash, taking note that he would need to take it out on garbage day. Wiping her down, he coated her in baby powder and hoped that he did it right and it would keep her comfortable before wrapping her in a new cloth diaper.

Settling down on his bed, he laid her on his chest while leaning back until he was fully laying down, petting her back with gentle, reverent touches. He’d need a name for her, and to make an appointment with a pediatrician to make sure she was healthy and he was doing it right, and as intimidating as it was, he found himself looking forwards to watching her grow up.

“ _Margaret_ ,” Klaus murmured tiredly, pushing back her dark curls. She blinked sleepily up at him, mouth firmly puckered with an almost scrutinizing expression, and when he pressed the tip of his finger against her palm, she squeezed it with surprising strength, hand clenching into a tiny fist. “My little Peggy Hargreeves,” he continued almost deliriously, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb, “Margie, Marge, Margaret.”

Come morning, she would be two days old — it would be forty-eight hours since she came into the world, and a full day since she had entered his. He didn’t think he’d ever get to be a father, had found it unlikely that he would even make it past twenty years old alive, but there he was, curled up in his bed with his newborn cradled snugly against his chest. As carefully as he could, he removed his shirt and pants, tossing them across the room, because he remembered something about skin to skin being good for infant bonding.

“I’ll be a good dad for you,” Klaus promised her, and Margaret hiccoughed almost in acknowledgement, squeezing his finger again when he slipped it back into her grip.

She trusted him, and he’d make sure he never betrayed that.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben finally makes an appearance, while Klaus is coming to terms with the fact that parenthood means no sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild discussion of past suicidal ideation, discussion of drug addiction, and general Klaus Hargreeves being Klaus Hargreeves.

**_2:29 am  
January 8th, 2009_ **

“What were you thinking?” Was the first thing out of Ben’s mouth when Klaus could finally perceive him, his ghostly brother perched atop his dresser with a concerned expression on his face. His arms folded across his chest, Ben scowled down at him, although Klaus knew that it was out of worry rather than anger at him. “You can’t even care for yourself,” he pointed out, “let alone an infant, and you know that you can barely function when off drugs.”

“Just gotta’ survive the withdrawal,” Klaus slurred, setting the bottle that he had been feeding Margaret down onto the countertop. Mrs Duluth had been right when she said to sleep when he could. He hadn’t listened, of course, too obsessed with the new baby and unable to sleep due to the sweating, nausea, and muscle aches, but now he was regretting not being able to squeeze a nap in. Newborns didn’t have any sense of time, and every two to three hours she was waking up to get changed, fed, or simply cuddled. It hadn’t even been a full day yet, he could tell since it was still night out, and yet he was somehow utterly exhausted. “Once I get past it,” he continued, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re serious about keeping her, then should make an appointment to get methadone when you make one for the pediatrician,” Ben suggested, but he shook his head. Even though she’d just eaten, Margaret was starting to cry again, but when he checked her diaper, there was nothing there. “Try burping her,” Ben suggested, and he was glad that he did because he would’ve forgotten otherwise.

“Thanks,” Klaus said, lifting her onto his shoulder. Gently, he patted her back, rubbing it slowly but firmly, and when he heard the release of gas, he lowered her again, cradling her in his arms. However, it didn’t do anything to calm her, and he could feel tears of frustration prickle in his eyes. He’d filled out the proper paperwork, and Mrs Duluth had offered to take it to the government offices in the morning, seeing as he didn’t have a car and shouldn’t be taking his daughter on public transportation until she got older and sturdier. “But that just means delaying the inevitable,” he continued, “and if I don’t quit while I have the willpower to, I know I’ll just get back on the hard shit. I also don’t wanna’ risk the cops finding out about my, uh. Situation.”

Ben’s nagging, in combination with the mournful moans of various spirits in the neighborhood and apartment complex and the crying baby in his arms, was making his head hurt like the someone was driving a nail into his skull. He rubbed at his achy eyes, licking at his chapped lips. “Maybe it would be better for her if you surrendered her,” Ben advised, but he shook his head.

“Our mothers surrendered us,” Klaus reminded him sardonically, “and look where we ended up. Dead, and an addicted single parent.” He didn’t want to give her up because he knew that he loved her, even if he couldn’t give her anything else. He didn’t want her being sent from foster home to foster home, until she finally ended up either aging out of the system or getting adopted, maybe by a family who would love and treasure her, make sure she was well cared for but also maybe by someone more like Reginald Hargreeves. “Foster kids are at a higher risk of dropping out of high school, committing suicide, drug addiction,” Ben raised an eyebrow at that, “and I want to at least try to provide her with some quality of life.”

His brother rolled his eyes, but he seemed somewhat placated. “Fine,” he conceded reluctantly, folding his arms across his chest, “but I expect that you’ll be a mature and responsible adult about this. You may be nineteen, but you’re still a teenager, and this means no drugs, no parties and raves, no anything until she’s older, and hopefully not even then.”

“I’m not touching another opioid as long as I live,” he swore, voice solemn, and Ben finally came to stand next to him, looking fondly at his niece. She was red in the face, tears streaking her cheeks, but as he bounced her in his arms, she started to calm down. He dried her face, and she nuzzled into him, hiccoughing lightly. “She’s beautiful, huh?” He asked, mopping sweat from his own forehead with the towel he’d taken to carrying with him, and Ben nodded.

“Margaret is a shockingly normal name,” Ben commented.

“There’s, like, a dozen nicknames for it,” Klaus said excitedly, keeping his voice quiet to not spook her, “and while I like Peggy, she could use whatever she wants for herself, if she even keeps it when she’s older. It also just sounded old-fashioned in a cute way, and it would age well and hopefully not embarrass her in school, so there’s that.” His brother was looking at him fondly, and he was suddenly embarrassed by his eager outburst, heat creeping into his cheeks with a blush. Scratching at the back of his head, he awkwardly focused on his daughter, looking into her eyes that might change color yet. “What?” He asked defensively, and Ben laughed, cracking a rare smile of amusement.

“You haven’t looked this happy sober in, like,” he said, “ten years.”

“It’s because I haven’t been sober in ten years,” Klaus grumbled, moving to go sit on the couch. He was so tired and sore that he couldn’t stand for longer than it took to take care of his daughter, and as he settled down there, he curled up with her in the crook of his arm, laying down gingerly so as not to disturb her. “Willingly, at least.”

Ben laughed again, although it faded off, and a worried expression drifted onto his face. “I was worried about you for a while,” he admitted wearily, atmosphere turning tense. It never was good when they had these serious talks — hadn’t been good both when Ben was alive, and after he had died. “You’ve overdosed, what,” he said, “eleven, twelve times in the year and a half since you initially left home? I started seriously wondering if you wanted to, well.”

Kill himself. It was less that and more that he couldn’t care less if he lived or died — there was a difference between suicidal ideation and general apathy towards death, although he was ready to admit that it wasn’t a healthy mindset, not by a long shot. He’d always been depressed, and after Ben had died, he hadn’t seen any point to sticking around for too long. Life was miserable enough as it was. “She’s something to live for,” he said, admitting it without saying it aloud, and Ben nodded, breathing shakily despite not needing to breath. He did that sometimes, doing things that living people did but he didn’t really need to.

“Margaret Hargreeves,” Ben said, testing the name out on his tongue. It would take some getting used to, two of them turning into three, but they’d make it work. Maybe they could eventually get a cat or a dog or a snake, or something like that. “I never imagined you having kids,” he confessed, “it always seemed like more of a Luther or a Diego thing to do. Heck, even I wanted to get married, have a family, but you?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Wait until the others find out about this.”

“They won’t,” he said with a scoff. Ben raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged, looking at his daughter’s cherubic face. “They’d give me the exact same lecture that you did,” he explained, brushing her curls out of her face, “but they’d probably try to actually take her away, call CPS or some shit like that, and I know that I’m not a good person to raise a child, but I’m trying to be.”

“You’re already a better dad than Reginald ever was,” Ben assured him, and it made warmth swell in Klaus’ chest to know that his brother thought he was doing something right, although it was a low bar to reach. Reginald Hargreeves would forever be the world’s worst father. “Although mom set some pretty high parenting standards,” he continued, and Klaus agreed.

“I miss her sometimes,” Klaus admitted, when he probably should’ve said a lot. He wished every goddamn day that he could get one last hug, have her kiss his forehead or make him breakfast or bake them cookies, or soothe him when he was hungover, call the ambulance when he was overdosing. She’d never told their father when she caught him with booze or drugs, only ever told him anything when it was a medical emergency. He missed her every goddamn day, and sometimes it would get too much, and he’d wake up from nightmares calling out to either her or Ben, desperate for them to comfort him.

“I do, too,” Ben said, and it was enough for Klaus to know that he had company in his misery. The withdrawal was bad, but his brother always had a miraculous way of making it easier to tolerate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit shorter than the others, but whatever I add to this series will vary in length depending on what I’m feeling lol. I’m also unsure whether it will be in chronological order, or all out of wack. This is just my self-indulgent little parenthood AU.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus takes Margaret for her first pediatrician’s appointment.

_**1:09 pm  
January 15th, 2009** _

Eight days of having an infant later, and he was glad that the nausea from withdrawal was killing his appetite, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to survive on the diet of orange juice and saltines he was subsisting on. The paycheck wouldn’t come in for awhile, and with the unexpected expenses of having a baby, he found himself unable to purchase a lot of groceries.

The thought had crossed his mind that he might break into the Hargreeves mansion again, steal some more stuff like he did whenever he was strapped for cash or in debt, but he didn’t want an arrest to soil any chance he had at giving his daughter a happy life. Another option was getting a legitimate career, but that would mean leaving her alone with just Ben at the house, or otherwise hiring a babysitter, and neither sounded appealing. The former felt like negligence, while the latter would definitely cost more than it would save.

He was losing weight alarmingly rapidly and he knew it, but he was so bone tired from late night feedings and soothing crying spells that could last for hours that it wasn’t a major concern of his. Luckily for him, it was the day of her first appointment with a pediatrician — meaning he could finally ask why she kept screaming at all hours of the day, except when he was holding her, or when it was relatively quiet out.

The snow had finally started to thaw, and when he stepped outside, Margaret bundled in her winter clothes and tucked into the carrier strapped to his chest, the sun was even shining down on them, with only light wind nipping at his nose. He’d dressed himself as warmly as he could, what with the chills that still racked his body and the way he always felt cold, although he knew that he’d need to strip off his coat at the office or risk sweating to death.

While he sat on the bus, Ben standing in the aisle, he closed down at her, making silly faces because he’d read online that it helped infants’ brain development to show affection and shower them in attention. After all, there’s no way to spoil a newborn. Her large, blue eyes blinked sleepily up at him, fixating on his face with how close it was to hers, and he knew she could see him with his face so close to hers — eight to twelve inches was what the internet had claimed was the distance at which a newborn could see objects clearly. Snuffling, she puckered her lips in what might’ve been concentration, and he beamed down at her.

“You’re adorable,” Ben mused, and Klaus braced himself while the bus started driving forwards. He smiled fondly at them, and Klaus subtly stuck his tongue out at him, ensuring nobody saw him making faces at what would appear to them as an empty space. “Honestly,” he continued, “this is like when you used to baby the rest of us when we were younger, except this is an actual infant.”

“Hey,” Klaus said indignantly, keeping his voice quiet and low so as to not attract suspicion, “I took my mother-hen duties very seriously, until mom showed up to relieve me of them.” He’d always been the one taking care of them, had right up until he’d gotten hooked on the painkillers prescribed after he broke his jaw falling down the stairs in heels. Everything had been downhill from there, a tumble down the cliff he’d been unknowingly teetering on for years. “Don’t pretend you weren’t grateful for the fact that I can cook without catching anything on fire.”

Ben winced, visibly recollecting when Luther had caught the oven on fire making eggs, or when Vanya had accidentally spilled flour across the entire kitchen. They’d all been safety hazards when cooking, so whenever they got hungry in the night or were in between nannies, they’d fetched him and made him cook them something. His talent at cooking meant that he wasn’t completely useless at domestic tasks, too. “True enough,” he conceded.

The hospital was a familiar sight, but he’d never entered willingly before, only ever because someone else needed him there or because he himself had overdosed and was being treated. He’d broken his wrist once and opted instead for splinting it himself, although sometimes it still popped when he turned it and ached when it would rain. Patients and people wandered through the halls in various states of undress and decay, some looking like regular folks while others had obvious death wounds, caved in heads and bruised skin, missing limbs, sickly appearances. He’d never enjoyed them, especially sober, when it became impossible to distinguish between the living and the dead.

“C’mon,” Ben encouraged, stepping forwards, and he followed him numbly, cradling his daughter a little closer while they weaved between people and spirits. Sweaty and shaky, Ben guided him into an elevator, and when the doors closed, he breathed a sigh of relief. Margaret was beginning to get fussy, although she’d been perfectly content on the bus ride over, and he couldn’t handle a full public breakdown, either on Margaret’s part or on his.

The waiting room was empty, which was good because hospitals are cesspits of disease, and he’d read that the way to minimize the chance of newborns catching colds and illnesses was to stay at least three feet away from others people. Settling in the corner of the waiting room, he turned her so that she faced him, layering his lacy scarf over her so that she was partially shielded by a thin veil of cloth. He adjusted the pacifier in her mouth, and she calmed somewhat, nuzzling into his chest with her brows still furrowed.

“Hargreeves?” A nurse eventually chirped, and he looked up, hurriedly moving to stand without jostling his infant. With long, blonde hair and large green eyes, she smiled at him reassuringly. “My name is Amy, if you would follow me,” she said, and he allowed her to lead him down the hallway.

Opening a door, she held it open for him while gesturing inside, and he stepped through the doorway cautiously. The room was pristine, with an examination table and an area that seemed like it was for weighing babies, and there were bird-themed stickers decorating the walls. He’d never been in a pediatrician’s examination room, having always been treated and examined at home, but it was less intimidating than he’d thought it would be.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, letting him sit down in a waiting chair next to the door. He nodded, and she left the room, shutting the door behind her. It was strange that he had moved from one waiting room to the next.

“This is so weird,” Ben mumbled, looking around in awe.

“Tell me about it!” Klaus exclaimed, voice barely above a whisper. Anybody waking past might’ve thought that he was just talking to his baby, but he didn’t want to risk them thinking he was crazy. “I’m the one holding the baby,” he continued, gently squishing her cheek. She followed his fingertip, thinking it was a bottle, and he smiled.

Amy returned shortly, attitude perky and enthusiastic. “So I’m going to cover the first part of your daughter’s appointment, with weighing and the other tests,” she explained, making sure to close the door for privacy, “while Doctor Rupani will be back to talk with you about her health. Alright?”

“Fine by me,” Klaus confirmed.

She took Margaret, and although his stomach twisted nervously because nobody else had held her but Mrs Duluth, she handled her fine, maneuvering her onto the scale and removing her nappy and blankets so that she could be weighed properly. Margaret started crying, fists shaking and back arching off the bed, and though it was expected, all he wanted to do was get her back. “So she has lost some weight since birth,” the nurse explained, “but that’s normal, and she’s already gained most of it back. You’ve been doing a good job with feedings, it seems.”

Calming down after the momentary fear that his daughter had been losing weight, Klaus nodded, watching while she was measured in length, width, and head circumference. When she was finally handed back, he was relieved, and immediately started soothing her, shushing her and rubbing her back in gentle circles. “So everything’s normal?” He asked.

“She’s right on track for growth,” Amy confirmed, “although she was born smaller than the average newborn.” Finishing writing whatever measurements she’d taken down, she smiled, gathering her things to go fetch the pediatrician he’d made an appointment with. “Doctor Rupani will be with you shortly,” she explained, leaving.

Sure enough, the pediatrician came in soon afterwards, extending a hand. He shook it enthusiastically, making sure to subtly wipe it on his pants so she couldn’t feel his badly he was sweating, although he was certain she could tell that he was clammy.

“I’m Doctor Rupani,” she introduced, “and is this Margaret?”

“Yep!” Klaus chirped, holding her up for the pediatrician to see her better.

“And where’s her mother?” She asked, glancing around the room. Her eyes skimmed over Ben, who was sitting on the counter along the far wall, coming to rest back on them. “I don’t often see the fathers coming to these appointments.”

“Motherhood just wasn’t for her,” he explained awkwardly. Lips tightening into a straight line, the pediatrician nodded in acknowledgement, looking down at his daughter. “And I’m perfectly fine with that,” he assured the doctor, “because it was her decision to make. I had an out, too, and it was my decision to raise her as much as it was her decision to, um, not.”

“Life can be difficult as a single parent,” Doctor Rupani said, “although you seem to be adjusting fine.” Typing something onto the computer, she pushed a stray hair behind her ear, looking back up at them and smiling. Her dark skin was clear, and she pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. “She’s at a healthy weight and length for her age,” she explained, “so I assume that you’ve been feeding her regularly, and that she’s been achieving a good latch on her nipple. How often does she wake for feedings?”

“Every two or three hours,” Klaus answered, “and I change her two or three times daily.”

“I assume she’s on formula, then,” Doctor Rupani said, and he nodded in confirmation. Quickly jotting the information down, she seemed to be satisfied with his response to her question. “Everything seems to be going well at home,” she continued, “and she’s getting the nutrition she needs.” Extending her arms, she smiled placatingly. “Can I take her for the examination?” She asked, and Klaus nodded, handing her over.

Laying Margaret checked her ears first, shining a light into them while peering around the device, before moving on to checking down her throat with what looked like a wooden popsicle stick and the same light. His daughter pitched a fit when she pressed it down on her tongue, and although she remained fussy afterwards, squirming on the table, she didn’t start crying. Squirming on the table, her limbs moved erratically, and Klaus would’ve been concerned if he hadn’t looked it up and found out it was normal for newborns to have jerky, unpredictable movements.

“And when did her umbilical cord fall off?” Doctor Rupani asked, briefly examining her eyes. She followed it my turning her around, softly touching the sides of his daughter’s head head. He’d read that they did it to check for soft spots, and to ensure the baby’s skull wasn’t fusing prematurely.

“Just yesterday, actually,” he said, looking at the stump where it had been.

She felt at Margaret’s collarbone, gently feeling along the ridges of it. “It does feel like she may have broken her clavicle during delivery,” the pediatrician said, and his heart leapt into his throat, “but it seems to be healing nicely.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Klaus asked, raising his hand to his face to chew on his fingers. It made him feel awful, knowing that something had happened to her that he hadn’t known about and hadn’t been able to help, although it happened before he even knew she existed.

“I suggest you pin her sleeve to her shirt to prevent her from moving her arm too much,” she said, “but otherwise, it should heal on its own.”

“That’s— that’s good,” he said, still on edge.

Doctor Rupani rotated Margaret’s hips, gently moving her legs to ensure her legs were in their proper positions, and his daughter tried kicking her legs out of her grasp. Briefly undoing her diaper, she checked her genital area before redoing the pins. Stroking her feet, she checked for her toes to spread before sitting her up, supporting her neck and head. “Otherwise, your daughter seems to be in perfect health,” she said. Margaret blinked open her pretty blue eyes, looking up at her pediatrician while her face scrunched up, and she examined them, gently holding her head still. “Newborns open their eyes better when they’re in a sitting position,” she explained.

“Learn something—“ he gagged slightly, “something new—“ Klaus mopped up the sweat from his forehead again fighting off a sudden wave of nausea, and her lips turned downwards while she glanced at him.

“Are you currently sick, Mister Hargreeves?” She asked, tone concerned, and he flushed, shaking his head. Her frown deepened, even as she handed him back his daughter. “If you have the flu or another disease,” she pressed, “you could potentially spread the illness to your daughter.”

“It’s not contagious,” he insisted, and her expression was confused before the ball dropped. Klaus could recognize the moment she realized he was an addict, in the careful way her eyes widened in shock before she schooled her face into a more neutral expression.

“Are you suffering through withdrawal, then?” She asked, and his silence told her everything she needed to know. Mouth pressing into a straight line, she nodded. “When was the last time you used?”

“Just over eight days ago,” Klaus was relieved to say, because he’d been clean willingly for longer than he’d been since he discovered that the drugs could make the ghosts disappear. Usually he broke down and went to buy from his dealers as soon as they came back, but he’d persevered through the night terrors and flashbacks and stayed sober. “I decided to get clean as soon as she was handed to me,” he explained, “but withdrawal can last a couple of weeks before I’m, ah, back to normal.”

“And you haven’t sought help?” She asked, concerned.

“My brother’s been taking care of me,” he hurried to explain, and it wasn’t completely a lie. Ben smiled, trying to keep a straight face when he knew what a falsehood it was. He’d keep lookout while Klaus slept so he wouldn’t be too worried about her to sleep when he could, but besides that, he wasn’t much help. “He was with me on the ride here, actually,” he continued, “although he had some stuff to take care of during the appointment.”

Doctor Rupani’s face visibly softened with relief, and she nodded. “It’s good you have a support system,” she said, typing a brief note into her computer that he imagined wasn’t flattering. Opening a drawer and searching through the files within, she found a piece of paper and extracted it, handing it to him. “Here’s a list of resources for support groups dealing with drug addiction,” she explained, and he accepted the piece of paper. It listed several group names and addresses, alongside brief descriptions of them. “This area has been hit hard by the opioid epidemic,” she explained, “and I’ve found it beneficial to have this list for parents in similar situations to yours.”

Ben gave him a pointed look. “I’ll genuinely consider it,” he said, partially to appease his brother and partially because he was actually interested. He’d tried his hand at rehab centers and support groups, but it was mostly to fulfill court orders or appease his siblings before they have him money that he would immediately spend on drugs. “It’s hard for me,” he explained, swallowing nervously, “talking about... all of this. My— my issues.”

“Keeping communication channels open is important,” Doctor Rupani said, giving his daughter back to him so he could swaddle her up in her blanket again, “so I hope you know that you can tell me any concerns you have.” Typing on her computer again, likely to record everything she had found during her examination, she turned back to him. “Now, are there any other concerns you have regarding her development?” She asked, and he hesitated before answering.

“Well,” he started, pausing, “she cries more often than I’ve read a newborn should.” Looking down at her, he rocked her slowly and carefully in his arms, watching as she gradually grew less cranky. Her face had turned red, but her features were starting to relax as she turned more pink than scarlet. “She’ll cry for hours at a time,” he clarified, “and sometimes she’ll cry more than she sleeps.”

Doctor Rupani frowned. “It sounds like the beginnings of colic,” she explained, jotting it down in her report, “although you’ll have to wait several more weeks to see if it continues for an accurate diagnosis. It also could be acid reflux, although I say the former is more likely.” Standing, she brushed her hands down her coat and pants, straightening the fabric and smoothing out wrinkles. “You can try changing the formula you’re using,” she said, “alongside warm baths. I also suggest you research newborn exercises you help with gas, or start playing white noise to help her sleep.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, and she smiled.

“Check in with the front desk to book her one-month appointment,” she instructed him, handing him a thin stack of papers on helping ease colic in infants, “and you’re free to go. It was nice to meet you, Mister Hargreeves.”

“Thanks, Doctor Rupani,” Klaus said, and she shook her head.

“It’s my job to ensure you’re both at your best,” she assured him.

He booked the appointment downstairs, and when he finally got on the bus, he collapsed gingerly into the seat, ensuring he didn’t jostle her. Humming quietly to himself, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the ghosts that had followed him out of the hospital pleading with him to help them move on. Margaret started crying, but he slipped her pacifier between her lips and it soothed her.

“That went well,” Ben said, trying to keep the ghosts from getting too close, and he nodded in agreement. With a pin, he gently clipped her sleeve to her lapel as the doctor suggested. “Maybe you _should_ find a support group to go to,” he said, “even if it’s not for addiction.”

Shrugging, he cradled her close, burying his nose into her hair and keeping her face down, trying to minimize the chance of her catching a disease from the person he heard in the back of the bus coughing. It was awful that he legally wasn’t allowed to drive, considering the government knew that he couldn’t distinguish between somebody living on the road and somebody who was dead. Once he received his royalties, he supposed he could pay for taxis to take him wherever he needed to go.

“I’ll consider it,” Klaus repeated.


End file.
